The hunter crested the final ascent of the winding staircase and spotted the familiar space where the queen was studying. Several mahogany tables had been pushed together to create one very long and paper-strewn line. Annalise sat at the head of it, dragging her finger over the crease of an unfolded letter to flatten it against the wood. The corresponding envelope had its wax seal pried open by a small silver knife set at the queen's side.
A space had been cleared for the hunter; a single saucer and a steaming cup was waiting for them, as well as a small tray with the teapot, sugar, and cream.
As the hunter approached, the silver helm lifted. "Good hunter," Annalise stated, and the hunter returned the greeting with a low bow. They pulled out a seat a few spaces away from a stack of looted manuscripts and gratefully grabbed the prepared teacup. They held it for a while, relishing the warmth before taking a sip.
"Some life has returned to thee," Annalise said as she idly flipped through a stack of loose parchment. "Thou holdst less the look of a haunting."
"I spent some time with Elaine and her… friends," the hunter replied. "It was nice."
"They do find ways to stay entertained, yes," Annalise said.
The hunter slumped back against their seat and smiled wanly. "A good way of putting it, your majesty."
"If thou'rt finished with frivolity, then turn thine eyes to these..." She paused and waved a hand towards the papers. "Examples of exhaustive erudition."
"No page-turners here?" the hunter asked as they set their tea aside.
"There are deserts less dry, I'm sure," she replied. "When we last met, we had polished gems to appraise. Now we have gravel. Though, of course, some gold may yet pass through."
Curious, the hunter plucked a page from the nearest pile. To their surprise, the seemingly single sheet of paper flaked into two. Not much had been written on the topmost page, just a few scribbled words and scratched-out shapes, but the exact same pattern had been copied down to the page beneath. The hunter set the papers down, frowned at them, and then picked them up and separated them again. While one page remained clean, the second had faint gray thumbprint smudges pressed in from the hunter's touch.
"Ashen reproduction," Annalise said. "A common practice at the college, so that all details of a procedure can be retained by both the student and the instructor. Any mark made on the first page is also made on the second."
The hunter scuffed their nail against the top page and then eagerly flipped it open; a grubby crescent shape had appeared on the second page. They let out a short and vaguely impressed hum.
The hunter grabbed another stack of the flaking paper; more equations had been marked down in duplicate, but much of the collection was merely twined-together collections of the grayer copy pages. These had been marked up with crimson ink; feedback, the hunter assumed.
One page held a diagram of an oval shape pinched to a point at its longest ends. Dashed lines passed through it and then converged at a single point. Beyond that, the lines diverged again, fanning out wide. Each ended capped in an arrow to imply further forward movement.
Beneath the diagram was a short list of equations; it was here where the hunter's attention began to flag. P equals one line F squiggly N dash one bracket…
"There's not a chance that I was trained in sums in my old life?" the hunter asked with a forced laugh.
"These are a few steps beyond sums," Annalise said. "But worry thyself not with them. These are the fundamentals of the craft that every student of the college was trained in. But We are already well versed in this bedrock foundation of their thought. What We desire is evidence of any independent study."
"Something out of the ordinary, then," the hunter murmured, and they leafed through the pile. "I'll have to train myself to see it. This is all extraordinary to me." With a frown, they flipped back a few pages. Someone had taken the time to create a small and rather lovely depiction of the seaside, but inescapably placed beneath it were more of the puzzling equations.
"…Sin?" the hunter asked.
Her helm tilted. "Elaborate."
"It's in the maths for some reason," the hunter said, unsure of how metaphysical a Byrgenwerth equation could possibly become. "N one sin O one equals—"
"Sine," Annalise interrupted.
"Sine," the hunter echoed, and their gaze flitted towards her inquisitively.
"Another fundamental," she said. "In all things there are patterns. To make any sense of them takes a particular kind of ken. This is the determination of such a pattern." She held out her hand expectantly; the hunter handed her the paper.
"The passage of light through water," Annalise stated. "Thou hast noticed afore how a glass chalice filled may warp the appearance of an item placed within?"
The hunter pursed their lips and appeared unsure. Annalise gestured towards the teacup. "Drink."
They quirked their brow but swallowed the tea down to the dregs.
Annalise pressed her small knife against an envelope, freeing the wax seal from the paper. She handed the soft disk to the hunter. "Place it at the bottom of thy cup."
The hunter glanced at the intricate pattern molded into the wax: the college's seal, they assumed. It was a floral arrangement placed over a patterned rectangular shape— like stairs seen from above, the hunter realized, though the pattern tricked the eyes and made it difficult to tell if they were ascending or descending. They pushed the wax against the bottom of the teacup.
"Remain where thou art," Annalise instructed. "But push thy cup away until the seal disappears from sight."
The cup slid over the table. The hunter pressed their fingers against the rim and watched as the wax seal fell from their view, obscured by their own perspective. If they were to stand and look down they would surely see it, but from their seat, the rim of the cup just barely blocked it from sight.
Annalise nodded. "Fill the cup once more."
The hunter lifted the teapot. They stretched forward to reach the cup and poured the liquid in. The tea swirled and settled, the hunter sat back and set the teapot aside, and then—
"Ah," they said happily. "I can see it again."
Glimpsed through the dark tint of the tea was the shape of the wax seal.
"Refraction," Annalise explained. "To manipulate the passage of light is to manipulate how one's reality is perceived." The silver helm tilted and she tapped her fingers against the table. "Water in its myriad forms can bend light, make it sink, and uncover the unknown just as its vast depths simultaneously work to obscure it. These sorts of mysteries lurk around every corner. What else could be hiding just out of sight without some volume of water to aid thee?"
The hunter furrowed their brow.
Annalise patted the top of the nearest stack of papers. "The college sought clarity. Water was but one avenue. In this, We shall uncover more yet."
Several tall piles of paper were now dispersed into dozens of smaller ones. Some were destined for the furnace. A select few had been set aside for further inspection. The majority, however, had been sorted into stiff leather folders and prepared for inclusion in the Cainhurst archives. Annalise had produced a wooden box containing a small set of carved ingot stamps; the hunter had found some fun in delicately hammering the numbered labels into the folders.
A servant had arrived to clear the tea; he remained, silent and hunched, near the bookshelf scaffolding.
"The task is complete," Annalise said, and she waved a hand at the organized contents of the table. "Depart if that be thy wish, or remain if that be the same."
The hunter rubbed their palm against their temple. It had been an arduous process, and their thoughts swam once more with the physics on an unseen fringe. Many of the equations had been more akin to an alphabet than any sort of arithmetic, and they had grown annoyed with themself for asking Annalise so many questions— questions that begot more questions, and not all of them relevant.
For any time they had approached to point out something of interest, the queen had leaned in as if to look at the page. But the helm had no evident opening for sight, and the ribbon atop that was yet another barrier.
It was true that many in Yharnam held some strong awareness beyond sight. The hunter had faced many foes with eyes bandaged over and dangerously unerring aim. Even the crow fought flawlessly with an obscuring helm. Still, curiosity compelled them to take furtive glances towards the violet cloth tied across her mask.
And every time, some instinctive awareness caused them to drop their gaze, and their nerves threatened a shiver. They now found it familiar, but always in her presence was the rich iron scent and the sensation of being seen.
For now, the queen's attention had shifted towards her collected papers. The servant had approached the table and was now retrieving the archive folders. The hunter watched as the they were gathered into gray and gnarled hands. The servant turned and moved stiffly but with a peculiar swiftness as he clambered up a wooden stepladder astride a nearby shelf.
The slumping cloth cap typically hid much of servants' faces from sight, but the hunter had garnered a clear glimpse here: the servant was quite old. Gray whiskers drooped over his upper lip and frizzled further into his beard. Wrinkles lined his eyes and arced across his brow. What little they had seen of his gaze had been hard and bright; no emotion was clear, but he had stared at the folders with an absolute focus, sparing no attention for the inquisitive hunter.
"I'll stay," the hunter said as they stood. "There's an awful lot to put away. I'll help."
Annalise stared at them, or at least it certainly felt like it. The hunter gathered several of the folders into their arms and looked over the indented labels. Most had simply been given numerals; atop many of the bookshelves were corresponding golden marks set into the wood. If it was only a matter of matching the two, the only difficulty would come from navigating the place—
"I said to thee that when next we met that I would tell thee of the king," Annalise said.
The hunter held the folders close to their chest and looked up. "You did," they admitted.
"Have thee any interest?" she asked. "Or does it no longer pique thy curiosity?"
"I am interested," the hunter insisted. "I just… didn't want to press the matter. Especially if it's, er, sensitive." They shrugged and drummed their fingers against the leather. "It's your tale to tell."
At that, Annalise leaned back; the hard set of her shoulders eased and she let her hands rest in her lap. "Indeed it is," she replied. "Sit, then. I have no need for rehearsal. However, I am going to command something of thee."
The elderly servant had approached again and stood expectantly at the hunter's side. The hunter shuffled the folders in their arms back into a more orderly stack and gingerly handed them to the man. They were met with a hard and undecipherable stare— Judgment? Appraisal? Something akin to amusement? In any case, the servant gripped at the folders and quickly strode off into the lower depths of the library.
Feeling thoroughly awkward, the hunter sat. "A command?" they asked.
"Consideration keeps thee silent," Annalise said. "Questions have risen up in thee, but thou hast swallow'd them back like bile for fear of offense." The chair scuffed against the floor as she stood. "We place great value in thy honesty, and thy honesty is sourced in thy curiosity. Thou'rt given Our permission to be candid. In turn, any reluctance may be seen as a form of dishonesty. Understood?"
The hunter nodded.
Annalise was silent, and unsettlingly so; she had taken a few steps towards the hunter but now stood with her hip leaned against the table as if waiting for something.
"The servant seemed rather, er," the hunter stammered. "Aged."
"Thou'rt asking why?" Annalise replied wryly.
"Yes."
"With the passage of time, one tends to grow older," she stated. "That servant has seen many a year. Aging occurred. Exceptions to this process are rare indeed."
The hunter forged ahead. "And retirement?"
"Dost thou think of Us as a tyrant? We force none to remain, but serving the castle is a prospect that many have found irresistible."
"Why?"
"Guess."
Was it better to drudge away cleaning a castle than to try and survive the den of horrors that Yharnam had become? Cainhurst was isolated, and enveloped in a dawn; perhaps the prospect was not 'better' but instead 'safer'.
But for it to be irresistible? What else did the position offer?
(Why did so many find Yharnam irresistible? Why had the hunter themself partaken in its customs? Bottles littered the streets, and even the taverns had turned to—)
"Blood," the hunter answered, and they recalled the sharing of glasses at the banquet. "Yours?"
"Diluted to a distant warmth," she replied, "and hardly anything more than what can be swilled out from a noble's emptied chalice, but yes. Mine. Thou'rt now familiar with the taste."
A memory bloomed: the crow's wrist, hot and bleeding against the hunter's lips, and the desire to drown in the heat. The hunter swallowed.
"We have been ensured, time and time again, of the dear crow's absolute allegiance to the throne," Annalise said. "Thus, the crow is offered solace in Our blood." She picked up the letter opener and idly toyed with it; the blade glinted as she passed it from one hand to the other.
Silence settled heavily. The hunter finally dared to speak.
"I would like to seek the same solace here," they said. "If there is a place for me."
Annalise approached them. There was an uneasy flutter in the hunter's stomach and their mouth twinged.
"Then We would seek the same allegiance from thee," she said. "Thy heart and soul in complete obedience to Us."
"You've offered me every kindness," the hunter said. "And you've been a— a great comfort, in telling me of… of my past, and I would be glad to repay you, to repay you ten times over, to happily claim that I am a servant to the throne—"
Annalise held up a finger and the words died on their tongue.
"No promises," she said. "No oaths. Only in action shall thy loyalty be proven."
The hunter stared up at her. "What would you have me do?"
"A task shall present itself to thee in due time." She leaned in close; the fabric of her dress brushed against their thigh. The hunter shifted in their seat. Annalise gently grasped the hunter's hand and held it; her other hand still gripped the handle of the small knife. "Still, this earnestness of thine is appreciated. In truth, thou'rt quite dear to Us," she murmured. "Thou'rt an opportunity most grand."
Her palm felt so pleasantly warm atop theirs, and the hunter found their gaze settling upon the pale curve of her neck— and the thrum of blood beneath, a pulse they could practically feel, carrying the urge to plant their mouth upon it and drink.
There was that hunger, and another: a desire for closeness, to give their thanks and their self to her, and to kiss her.
But obscuring her face was the ornate silver barrier, the harsh metal jaw, and the hunter noticed how tightly the helm was fashioned to her neck; the only gap in the interlocking plates was the one that allowed her pale hair to flow down over her shoulder.
"This helm," the hunter said. "Why do you wear it?"
Annalise sighed. Thankfully, it did not seem borne of disappointment or annoyance; she lightly squeezed the hunter's palm as she considered her answer.
"For the longest time, We believed there to be no need for a king," Annalise said. "The last had been the source of the kingdom's ruin, and my own progenitor had indulged in her own cowardice by taking a consort. In time, however, We found that there was a place for proper counsel."
"Counsel?" the hunter asked.
"In seeking Our birthright, We found beauty," she said. "Not the beauty of a sculpted form, or a well-painted face, but a beauty that could only come from terror, and controlling that terror. To be loved and feared in such equal measure that both become the same— this is what the grave of the gods granted Us."
"But even with such power, with such reverence decorated upon me, I remained no more than myself. I held my rule, but doubt sometimes appeared like a worm in my flesh, gnawing to rot— and to ask any of my kin for guidance was to ask for nothing. They had no advice to offer when I was so absolute. There was simply no way to fathom disobeying my rule."
Her other hand passed over the hunter's own. The handle of the knife was pressed into their palm and she guided their fingers to clasp around it.
"In that time, if I were to give thee this blade, and ask thee to cut thine own throat— " she said, and her fingers encircled the hunter's wrist and lifted, pulling until the glinting edge was pressed just beneath the hunter's chin. "Thou wouldst have no choice but to do so. Such was the fate of those that I captivated."
Annalise lowered her hand to let it rest upon the hunter's shoulder. The hunter's hand did not move. The knife remained held close to their skin. They could feel, intuitively, a pressure— one that was uncannily familiar, in the same way the wind made one realize that they were surrounded by air. For surely they had felt her influence everywhere in the castle before— in the liveliness of its subjects, in the brightness of the sky, in the quiet and dreamless sleep that they had enjoyed. Now they felt her sway focused directly upon them. It was nothing so simple as a seizing of the muscles, as if the hunter was a puppet with strings pulled taut; instead, it was the hunter's own will in a vise.
If Annalise had asked them to do so, the hunter would see the sense in the request even though there was none, and the blade would eagerly glide across their neck.
The hunter took a deep breath and remained very still. Already the terrible pressure was waning; they held the knife in place by what truly felt like their own volition. They refused to drop it, to let it clatter down to the table out of terror. They instead boldly fixed their stare upon the queen's helm.
"Did you just free me?" they asked. "Or did you reach the limit that you placed upon yourself?"
"Thou believest that I devised this wretched mask for myself? No," she said, and the hunter flinched at her scathing tone. "No. What I sought in a king was the strength to withstand reality, the strength to see the world stripped bare of even the illusions that I relied upon. Not a single noble here would dare be weaned from their comforts and even if they had, the truth, the absolute truth of the world is more than enough to drive a man mad."
Her hand gripped tightly at the hunter's shoulder, and while the hunter feared her anger, they watched her closely as she wavered— it seemed more now that she was steadying herself against the hunter, her nails digging into their skin to work as anchor while she spoke.
"It was not an easy endeavor. It certainly departed from tradition, or at least the idea of tradition that many here still clung to, but that mattered not to me. As I said, I was quite free to do as I pleased without even the smallest stirrings of criticism from any within my domain. Even so, there was precedent set by my own forbears. Did Calista not break her blood vows with one of her own knights to produce me? So I searched, and eventually I found what I so dearly sought. Is it too much for thee to believe? That I finally found a head befitting of the crown in squalor— in unadorned simplicity? He had nothing to his name except that which he carried."
"I admit that I made my first advances in disguise— relying as ever upon sculpting perception to my desires— but no matter what face I wore, I was met with the same honesty and care. In the end, I revealed as much of myself as I dared, and begged him take up the crown. And then, with his sight unclouded, I asked of him… to see the truth of me, and to offer allegiance freely given," she said. The helm tilted down, and the hunter felt her gaze upon them.
"He granted me that. It was a thing unspeakably precious to me," she said quietly. Her grip on the hunter's shoulder eased. "And once found… it was swiftly lost."
Sympathy swelled in the hunter's chest. Slowly, deliberately, they lowered the knife to the table. They placed their hand over hers.
"I have mourned the loss of such truth, and in rare moments I consider seeking it once more," Annalise said. "To have found such a thing again…" She trailed off, and the hunter felt a chill creeping along the back of their neck from the intensity of her unseen stare. Heat rose in their cheeks; growing raucously at the back of their thoughts was an embarrassed incredulousness.
You can't mean, the hunter thought, you can't possibly mean—
Peripheral movement caught their attention. The hunter glanced towards the windows lining the library walls. The pale sky above had gone gray; snow began to fall in lazily drifting flakes.
"The day's work has been done. We shall retire to Our chambers," Annalise said, her voice even and calm as if no admissions had just been made. Her hand slipped out from beneath the hunter's. The hunter, baffled into silence, looked up at her.
"Look not so lost. Thou'rt invited," she said. "Was it not clear? Must I put it in writing?"
Tension fled them in a short laugh and a shake of the head. The hunter stood; already, Annalise was walking off towards an adjoining hallway.
The hunter followed.
